


Don't Get Mad

by downjune



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Age Difference, Casual Sex, Frottage, M/M, Messy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downjune/pseuds/downjune
Summary: “Come home with me tonight.” TK shifted from one foot to the other. He grinned under his terrible mustache and shrugged. “To my hotel room. Whatever. Come on, we fucking earned it.”orIf you ask me, hate-sex isn't screwing someone you're mad at; it's getting even.





	Don't Get Mad

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to have this done and posted before Game 6, but life has been happening a lot lately, and I think it works well knowing what happens in Game 6, anyway. 
> 
> *is melancholy, even though I wanted the Pens to advance* My heart is divided.
> 
> Tumblr already knows Travis Konecny is a precious little punk, but I'm just finding out, so [have](http://manybumblebees.tumblr.com/post/173190603208) [some evidence](http://victorshedman.tumblr.com/post/173203147540) of [why Claude](http://itstartledme.tumblr.com/post/172770306503/manybumblebees-tk-is-more-loose-during-the) [would totally](http://itstartledme.tumblr.com/post/172971829818/markusnutivaaras-180318) [hit that.](http://itstartledme.tumblr.com/post/170157732350/trappedundericehockey-12118)
> 
> See end note for spoilery content warning/world-building note.

“Come home with me tonight.” 

Claude yanked a clean t-shirt over his head, and when he could see again, TK was there by his locker, naked except for a towel that, if he let go of it, would leave him balls-in-the-wind. Like pretty much every other guy in the room, but those guys weren’t inviting Claude to—

“Home?”

TK shifted from one foot to the other. He grinned under his terrible mustache and shrugged. “My hotel room. Whatever. Come on, we fucking earned it.”

Claude smirked. “I earned it, maybe.” Game 5, and they were still alive. One more game. And then the next, and the next until there weren’t any more. 

TK looked him up and down, from his bare feet, up his suit pants, to his face. He’d been doing that since about January. “Definitely,” he said. “That goal was hot as hell. Let me, uh. Come back to my room, and I can—”

“Fine, yeah,” Claude answered impulsively. The guys were starting to look. TK was making no secret of his proposition. In fact, he’d probably told them to look, to watch him work. And fuck it. TK never took his foot off the gas. He’d earned this too, even if Claude tended to keep clear of the rookies for this kind of thing. “Show me your stuff,” Claude told him. “ _In your room_. Jesus,” he added when TK started to drop the towel. 

The whole room erupted like they’d been waiting to see if Claude would go for it, and TK’s face lit up with laughter. “But you said—” 

“I know what I said.” Claude reached out and dug his fingers into TK’s hair, gave him a shake, and shoved him away. “And I already changed my mind.” At TK’s sharp look, he winked. “You’re coming to my room. I’ve seen how you live.”

“Cool, the captain’s suite. I’ll see you there.” He attempted a wink in return and shot Claude a finger gun which resulted in his towel dropping to the floor anyway. Wolf whistles echoed around the room, and Claude shielded his eyes. 

“Not before the wedding,” he joked, turning back to his locker to grab his dress shirt off the hook. 

From his pocket his phone buzzed, and he took it out to see a bunch of text notifications. They were all congrats from friends, his sister, and his parents. He and the boys were still alive in this—Claude had made sure of that. 

But the newest one was from Sid. Claude’s belly tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. Against his better judgment, he thumbed it open.

 _Nice game_ , it read. _You earned that one._

Their first communication since the start of the playoffs. After they’d agreed to radio silence for the duration. 

Of all the smug, condescending, patronizing, garbage things to say. Claude chewed the inside of his lip for the length of time it took him to type _Fuck. Off_. Then he deleted it and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Silence felt better. More spiteful. 

Turning, he looked for and found TK at his locker, bare ass now covered by a pair of dark boxer briefs. Claude wet his lips and crossed to him before he could examine his motives. They weren’t particularly noble.

A quick “Whoa” from Patty was all the warning TK got before Claude grabbed his arm, spun him around, and pinned him with a kiss. Zero finesse, a few too many teeth, and head in a jumble. Only 21 and having the time of his life, TK didn’t know the difference. He braced against the edge of his locker and gave it everything he had. Claude could not have been prouder.

*

The door shut behind them with a solid thunk, the lock engaging, closing them in and the rest of the world out from the anonymous beige square of the hotel room. TK’s hands were already on him, yanking his shirt back out, undoing his belt buckle, and pressing up along his ribs. 

Claude was about to say, _Easy_ , but thought better of it. Nothing was ever easy, so why should this be?

TK didn’t quite look at him as they backed up to the bed, his gaze shifty and lowered to about Claude’s chin. Claude had spent his whole career just about the smallest guy in any room, but somehow it was strange that TK was exactly his size. Like someone so young should still be smaller than Claude.

“Nervous?” he asked when TK fumbled the buttons of his dress shirt.

“No,” he snorted, then looked up quickly, the lie as obvious as the nose on his face.

“One time I asked Danny if I could go down on him after a game. I was drunk, and about two minutes in, I had to go puke off his deck. Knew I wasn’t gonna make it to the bathroom.”

TK made an epic face of sympathy and disgust. “Ugh. How did I not hear about that?”

“He was a gentleman. And everybody on the team then is gone now.”

TK got the rest of Claude’s buttons open without any trouble. “Fuck, you’re old.” He pushed the shirt off Claude’s shoulders and dropped it onto the floor. “And I’m not gonna puke with your dick down my throat, don’t worry.” Claude stepped out of his dress pants and folded them a bit more carefully. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. _Good for you_? _Don’t call me old_?

But TK pushed him down before the silence got awkward. He stripped Claude out of his underwear and knelt over him to shrug out of his own clothes. He couldn’t seem to do it fast enough or in the right order, so when he’d gotten his pants off but his dress shirt was still open, Claude ran out of patience and dragged him down by it. 

They lay-to-skin, TK braced on one elbow, his other hand gripping Claude’s bicep. And for how much he ran his mouth during games and in the locker room—his constant stream of shit-talk—he’d gone very quiet. 

“All right?” Claude finally asked. He shifted his hips beneath TK’s and felt the hot line of TK’s dick twitch low against his belly.

TK sucked in a quick breath and nodded. “Yeah.” His eyes were very serious. “I just wanted to say. You know. This has been the best year of my life. Even that ten-game streak. You’re like…you’re everything I could ever hope for in a captain and a—a liney, and no matter what, I just want—”

“Teek.” Claude put his hand at TK’s waist and cut his gaze to the side. His heart clenched and twisted at TK’s honesty—the nakedness of his words. How much he trusted Claude to have said them. Guilt squirmed its way in, but TK cut it off with a short laugh.

“Sorry, sorry. I said I was gonna suck your dick, didn’t I.”

“We could just stay here so you can tell me how great I am, if you really want,” Claude offered. “I’m a tired old man.”

“I’ll make sure you get it up, don’t worry.” TK gave him the grin of a kid who’d learned young never to take a single thing for granted. He started to scoot down between Claude’s thighs, but Claude stopped him, grabbing hold of the back of his arm. 

“Stay here for a minute, yeah?” He lifted his hips. “Like this.” He gripped TK’s triceps right over his tattoo and settled back when TK rocked against him. His torso flexed, abs clenching as he curled his hips in and looked down to see their dicks rubbing together. 

“Shit, that’s hot.” 

Claude nodded. “Yeah.” 

He was kind of a funny looking kid, but pretty much everyone was for a while. He was wiry and strong—just like Claude had been at his age. Tenacious and more than anything else, _willing_. Ready and down for whatever. TK braced himself over Claude and fucked against Claude’s dick with all the enthusiasm of someone who had yet to learn the value in pacing himself. The adrenalin of the game, of the win, had him flushed and unsteady it seemed as soon as Claude grabbed his ass to pull him in tighter.

“Oh fuck,” he grunted and bit his lower lip, and he was fucking beautiful.

And Claude hoped more than anything for Sid to be home right now, waiting for Claude to text him back. Hoping Claude would do it to gloat about their win that, _Oh okay, Sid said we’d earned it, so I guess we can be proud_. Maybe he wanted Claude to tell him it was a good game, too. To go back on his word as easily as Sid had and reach out, for what? For comfort? Like the weird friendship/relationship they’d built in the last three years was more important than this? Than team?

“G, I’m so fuckin’ close—are you gonna come?”

Claude wrenched himself out of Sid’s bedroom and back to this room. To Travis and his body that was nothing like Sid’s, and his floppy hair and his ridiculous o-face. He was going over the edge whether Claude came with him or not, and that fact alone made Claude’s chest swell with such fierce affection, it burned Sid right out of his head and sent him tumbling after. It happened so suddenly, he was glad to be lying down. He felt fucking ancient and like he could go again right now. Like he could race TK down the ice and keep pace just before keeling over. 

TK huffed a breathless laugh after his last shudder and flopped down on top of him, smearing spunk between them and biting clumsily at Claude’s jaw. “Shit,” he said with great satisfaction. 

“Not bad,” Claude agreed, impressed that he was able to string even those two words together. He trailed his middle two fingers up TK’s spine and smiled at the ceiling when TK twitched and shivered.

They lay there for a while until Claude began to drift, which was when TK asked him quietly, “Do you think we can do this?”

Claude hesitated, but he knew what _this_ TK meant. During playoffs there was only ever one _this_. “I think we can do anything.” He spread his hand in the dip of TK’s lower back. “The trouble is, so can everyone else.”

TK made a thoughtful sound. “Whatever happens, though…”

It seemed like he needed Claude to finish the thought for him. And he could do that. “Whatever happens, we’ll be fine.”

*

He woke up sometime before morning for no reason he could discern—probably still dehydrated from the game, because he didn’t even have to pee. TK was still passed out on him, though he’d shifted enough of his weight to the side that Claude didn’t feel squished. With eyes adjusted to the dark, he got an up-close look at TK’s eyelids and the individual hairs of the atrocity on his upper lip, and just because it felt good, he nudged his head gently against TK’s temple. TK breathed a little deeper at the touch but didn't wake up.

A flicker of light from the nightstand let Claude know he had new texts on his phone, and he reached over to check them. Maybe he was hoping for one from Sid, and maybe he wasn’t, but there they sat. Four of them. 

_Sorry._  
_I shouldn’t have sent that. Really dumb._  
_I hope we can talk after this is over._  


Then, just ten minutes ago, _Sorry, it’s just. Really weird playing you in the playoffs again, after how different things have been the last couple years. I didn’t think it would fuck with me, but it has._

With his other arm pinned under TK, Claude squinted against the glare of his phone and thumbed a text one-handed. _Get some sleep you idiot._

With a little distance and a fantastic orgasm between them and the game, Claude let his more generous feelings back in. He hoped Sid was with his team tonight and not by himself in his empty house, even though they’d played in front of a home crowd and could sleep in their own beds. Playoffs necessitated proximity, win or loss. He hoped somebody on the team had shut Sid up for the night in a way that felt good.

After he’d placed his phone face-down on the nightstand, Claude rolled back toward TK and hooked his free arm across his back. He was a furnace under the hotel comforter, and his belly inflated on each breath to press against Claude’s side. He was a good kid. And Claude had gotten him at least one more game.

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in a 'verse where casual sex between teammates is more or less the norm. It's just part of being on a close-knit team. As such, I don't consider Claude's actions to cross a line into infidelity, but ymmv. Claude and Sid are on a break because playoffs, and team is team, always and forever. That being said, feelings are messy. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr!](http://itstartledme.tumblr.com/)


End file.
